


Crossings

by virtueofvice



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9065113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtueofvice/pseuds/virtueofvice
Summary: Severus and Hermione meet in the woods - paths cross whether we want them to or not, and everyone leaves a little of themselves behind when they go.





	

The Scottish highlands had always been miserable bastards for rain.

Hermione swore under her breath, drawing the hood of her muggle sweatshirt up over her dripping hair and zipping it up to her throat, for all the good it would do her. It had once, long ago, been charmed to repel the intermittent mists and grey drizzles so common to this part of the world, but all such magic fades and she was loath to dip into her reserves to restore it. It mattered little anyway - it felt as if it had been pissing down rain for years.

It had all fallen spectacularly to pieces, here at the eleventh hour. With Harry and Ron gone from the school hunting Horcruxes, she had remained behind to train and command Dumbledore's Army, which was fiercer and more desperate than ever. Her presence was masked, however, or had been until very recently - the illusion was an easy one to maintain, for when had the Golden Trio ever traveled anywhere except as a unit? But that was all over now. The school was under Death Eater control, or as good as, with high-ranking officials from the Dark-controlled Ministry patrolling the halls at will and Slytherin students turning on even their fellows for the chance to be spared a heinous penalty.

The school had been her home away from home since she was a girl of eleven, bright-eyed and bushy-headed with her hand permanently raised and still carrying faith in the power of goodness. Now, with the heavy steps and panicked breathing of her fellow rebels behind her, she turned her back on it, and fled into the darkling woods. The Forbidden Forest could be counted upon to provide refuge, at least temporarily - Hermione herself was on better terms with most of its denizens than those currently holding the castle, and its impenetrable twilight had provided ample cover for generations of illicit acts.

Spending the entirety of her school career backing up her marauding best friends had taught her some measure of stealth. But those that followed faithfully after her, trusting in her leadership and her knowledge of the forest, were not so blessed in their wealth of experience. They were inexperienced and soft, earnest but hopelessly green despite her endless drills, and worst of all, entirely her responsibility. She felt the weight pressing down on her shoulders as heavy and foreboding as the looming thunderheads barely visible through the forest canopy. Lightning crackled, and somewhere up ahead a dry limb split from a tree and crashed to the ground. One of the girls in the group gave a little shriek and Hermione whipped around, wand coming up automatically, tempted to silence her. The skittish filly clapped a hand over her mouth, wide-eyed, dipped her head and trotted on.

One more disadvantage her charges possessed that she did not... The years had hammered her bright optimism into something colder, tempered and hard. She, like many other muggle-born since the Death Eaters had resumed their activities, no longer took her survival for granted. With her family spirited away to Australia and her friends separated from her indefinitely, she was a woman who was willing to lose the few things she had left, and had embraced the practicality of pragmatism.

A nest of thistles barred their path but the ground was muddy on either side and would bear tracks more than the indiscernible tangle of brush and dead leaves before her. With a flick of her wand she cleared a tiny crevice in the thicket and charged on, beckoning those behind to follow. Her caution was utterly wasted - crashing through the underbrush, she could have had a team of bloodhounds on her heels and wouldn't have heard them over the noise of her companions. And werewolves were much quieter than hounds. The clammy skin at the nape of her neck prickled unpleasantly as she reflected on Fenrir Greyback and his lascivious toothy leer.

Bursting from the other end of the thicket, she did not immediately recognize the tower of black that reared up before her, but the scent was instantly familiar, if changed - wet wool, smoky sandalwood, bergamot trampled into the earth. Before she could form a coherent thought she had flung one arm back, forcing the single-file line of students back into the thicket as if she were a mother lion at the door of her den and could protect them - as if such a flimsy thing could protect anyone, anymore.

_Severus Snape._

Hermione's lip curled. _I don't have time for this_. Immediately, she assumed a classical dueling stance - one he had taught her - the lines of her body sharp as a razor, jaw set hard enough to crack granite. "Are we going to have a problem, Professor?"

Her voice did not even shake. From behind her, a tiny gasp, the rustle and whisper of shifting, uneasy footsoldiers. _Steady, you shits._  

_Severus fucking Snape._

He was supposed to be at large, a wanted murderer yet now exiled from the Death Eaters as well. Something about his manner on the night of Dumbledore's death had troubled the Dark Lord, raised suspicions that had been lingering malignantly like a splinter for some time. Severus had thought it wise to make himself scarce while he had the opportunity to do so - apparently not the only one with such an idea.

If Harry were here, if Ron were here, they would have attacked him immediately, without question - and possibly gotten themselves killed in the process, if not by the Half-Blood Prince himself then by the attention it drew from the castle. But Harry and Ron had never had to face from childhood the reality that their kind was considered second-class, had never had to _Obliviate_ their own loved ones, had never had to lead an inexperienced army through hostile territory.

Hermione herself questioned his culpability. Of course, he was guilty of a great many sins, and a right sodding bastard to boot - but Dumbledore had been a great chessmaster in life, and she doubted very sincerely he would have wasted so dramatic a death. There was just something rather dicey about the tale of a man who stayed white-knuckle, teeth-crackingly loyal for fifteen years, only to turn his coat when it was so very personally inconvenient for him to do so.

Pragmatically speaking.

But all of that didn't explain her current predicament. He was an accomplished wizard, on the run and she assumed in hiding, and could have been anywhere in the world. He was supposed to be anywhere but _right here_ , standing in front of her, all nine stone of him, raising questions and _complicating her life_.

Severus stood very still, watching the girl emerge from the thicket. If she screamed for help, the children behind her would draw their wands, desperate to defend their leader against a foe none of them had even spotted yet. If she screamed invective, it would draw the attention of the Ministry officials and others patrolling the castle, many of them in Voldemort's pocket. Neither was a favorable outcome.

The audacious little Gryffindor chose, of course, a third and statistically absurd option. She faced him down, her stance a polished mirror image of his own, eyes bold and crackling with kinetic energy. Her wand was eleven inches of threat pointed straight at his throat and he did not doubt for an instant that she meant it.  _My, my, little lioness._ He raised a brow. _All grown up already._ A long moment ticked by, and passed into two, rain pelting the forest floor around them and soaking indifferently through clothes that were already saturated. Finally he lowered his wand and stepped aside, bowing slightly at the waist. "No, Miss Granger. No problem."

Hermione huffed a hot sigh out through her nose, equal parts fury and relief, and waved her charges onward. Severus had already melted into the trees, and no one but the little lioness could swear to having seen him. And she wasn't telling.


End file.
